Illise
by NeverFae
Summary: They say your legacy is the story others will tell of you when you pass on; the imprint you make on the world is determined by what people make of you. Illise Yarrow has made quite the impression, on quite a lot of people.
1. Lucia

The first time Lucia had ever seen her, she was sitting on one of the benches in front of the great big tree in Whiterun. She was eight, a bit big for her age - though she was growing slower up and slower still out with malnutrition, now the same height as Braith, though the girl was almost a whole year younger - and Lucia was homeless. Motherless. Fatherless. An orphan. She did as she had been instructed, every day, and waited and asked for the charity of strangers. She had been doing as instructed for days and days; she hardly knew how long it had been, too concerned with when she would eat and where she would sleep to see beyond the week. There was a real possibility she would be _dead_ in a week, though she didn't often make a point to dwell on it.

She asked for coin, and sometimes she got it. Others, she got food (just as good, in her opinion), and others still yet she got only news. Not many had turned her away in anger, which made her grateful, but none had offered to take her in, either, and that brought with it a certain bitterness Lucia was keenly aware a girl of eight wasn't supposed to possess. She forced herself to be grateful for the kindness offered, for the occasional septum, for the molding cheese and hard bread and ale that made her stomach turn. If all the town had for her was leftovers, scraps, and unwanted things, she would take it.

In retrospect, Lucia didn't know what had possessed her to ask the woman for a coin. She did not look like the generous type. She was a stranger, with Imperial features and Imperial armor and a wicked one-handed axe strapped to her side that was spattered with blood. It may have been the circlet on her head, the amulet at her throat, or the fact that she was munching on a solid hunk of cheese as she passed, eyes kept straight and locked on the stairs to the next district. Still, the girl asked, not expecting much in way of an answer and not bothering to stand from her bench seat. The woman turned.

Frozen, Lucia could only meet her gaze. She had pale eyes, grey and maybe blue, and close cropped black hair that put no gentleness in her gaze and did not obscure it. Those eyes gave the girl a once-over, a calculating move that caused Lucia to shrink back some. A moment of silence passed between them.

"Where are your parents?" The woman asked, finally, taking a bite out of her cheese wedge as though it were the most normal thing in the world. Lucia stuttered out her explanation, about her parents, about her lost home, about the help of strangers she had to use to get by. As she spoke, she became aware of a growing intensity in the woman's eyes that scared her. What was this wild woman thinking?

"I could adopt you!"

It was blurted out, just as Lucia had lost her nerve and trailed off into nervous silence. She was taken aback, as was the woman. Lucia was offered a sheepish smile, one that seemed to transform the stranger into something less terrifying, something more like…. A mother, maybe. Lucia would take what she could get. However…

It was well known, even to little orphan girls, that the only place in town available was Breezehome, and that only to a thane. Lucia, hoping she was wrong and the woman perhaps merely lived elsewhere (and how scary would that be? Moving somewhere unfamiliar. What if this new guardian died, too? Left her alone in a strange land?), she squared her shoulders.

"Do you have a place I can stay?" She asked, trying to keep the tremble out of her tiny, hopeful voice. The woman's falling face told her all she needed to know. "Well," she said, trying to feel grateful for the sentiment and not bitter, because she was eight and eight was too young to be bitter, "thanks, anyway…."

She turned to walk off, but was stopped by the woman's hand on her shoulders. Lucia froze.

"I apologize," the Imperial said, moving around Lucia to face her and kneeling so they were at eye level, "I was born a traveller; I had not considered that you wouldn't simply come with me." Her eyes were still disconcerting, especially so close up, but her words made Lucia feel a tiny bit better. "To make up for things… here," she mumbled, digging suddenly through a purse. She retrieved twenty coins from the already light seeming bag, and handed them to Lucia. The girl's eyes went wide.

"This is…" She wanted to cry. Twenty septims was more than she could have begged off of the town in a month, handed to her freely. "I can't take this," she said, small voice thick with held back emotion. The woman shook her head, placing her hands in Lucia's shoulders.

"Go to the Bannered Mare, tell the woman at the desk you would like a room, and some work. Ten septims will get you a room, and the work will at least earn you some food," she said, staring into Lucia with those intense eyes. Lucia clutched the coins close to herself, her own eyes wide.

"But, ten coins is so much," she whispered, feeling tears well up. The prospect of a bed, a safe place to bathe, and walls around her that kept out Skyrim's chill was almost too much, but she had to think, while she had the chance. Ten septims could buy her a lot of food, but only one night at the inn. Better to risk things outside and freeze, and have food, she reasoned. Perhaps sensing her thoughts, the woman frowned. She stood, and for a moment Lucia thought she had angered her. A slim, long hand slipped into hers a moment later, tugging her along, and the girl followed where she was pulled, puzzled.

She almost tugged from her grasp when they climbed the steps to the Bannered Mare, but the woman held tight, and they passed through with only a small, panicked noise from the orphan girl. Inside, old Hulda was preparing for the night influx, and already there was drinking and music and the warmth from a fire. The woman pulled Lucia up to the desk where Hulda stood. The elder woman frowned at the stranger, then at little Lucia.

"I don't like where this is going," the tavern owner bit out. Lucia flinched, but the Imperial remained as calm as ever. She pulled a sack out of her bag, passing the whole thing into Hulda's hands without any hesitation. Hulda's eyebrows shot up as she opened the bag. "I'm liking where this is going a bit more," she amended, holding up one gold piece for inspection.

"Seven hundred and twenty gold pieces, for room and board, and food, for the little one" the stranger said, gesturing to Lucia, "just room and board, if she works for you. Little girls have quick fingers and fast legs, and women who run taverns have little time for things but a lot of food to spare for those who can make the time for them."

Lucia stood, hand still in the stranger's grip, as Hulda poured the coins onto the counter and counted them out. Her eyes were wide. Evidently, the purse from earlier wasn't the only one the Imperial was carrying. When Hulda came up with only seven hundred septims, she produced the other bag and poured out the remaining twenty for Hulda to count. There was no mention made of the twenty in Lucia's pockets. As the coins were counted and the two women discussed what work Lucia would be doing for her food, the stranger was writing a note on some parchment. When everything was counted out and settled, the woman turned and knelt in front of Lucia again.

"The coins I gave you," she said, eyes flicking to Lucia's pockets, "save for when you're running low on coin, if I have not returned. Give them to a courier, with this," she handed her the note. "Tell him to take it to Hadvar, in Riverwood. If the gods are kind, you will be heading there once your pay has run out."

"What about you?" Lucia asked, feeling a sudden and fierce connection to this foreigner who had paid for so much. The woman laughed, but it was a laugh without humor.

"If the gods are kinder, I will be back well before your time is up, and you will be here a while yet. Pick up a trade, little girl, while you're here; learn to cook and mend, and serve and count and read. All these things will serve you, if the gods are instead cruel. You have months here; do not waste them."

"Yes, Ma'am," Lucia said, in a small voice. The woman stood, nodded, and turned to speak with Hulda once more.

"You can't seriously be spending all your coin on the girl," Hulda was saying.

"I am." This from the stranger. Hulda frowned.

"And what of you?" She insisted, scooping the coins into their purse, "what will you do, with no money? There will still be a beggar on the street, unless you have some coin stored elsewhere."

"If I live, I'll have money to spare," the woman said evenly, "if not, I will have no use for what I have now. Take the money, Hulda, and be secure that you have a room rented for the near future, and that the girl will be sent on to be cared for if I don't come back."

Hearing that, Lucia wanted to cry. Was she an Imperial soldier, then? Off to war? Was she expecting to die? Thinking of her mama and papa, Lucia watched the woman turn to leave. On a last minute decision, Lucia ran to her, hugging her tightly. "Thank you," she said, trying to pour seven hundred and twenty septims worth of gratitude into the words. She received a light pat on the head.

"I will get a house here, if I live to come back," the stranger said, "and as soon as there is a bed for you, child, I will bring you there. Stay here in the meantime, and stay inside when you are able." Her voice grew stern, "there are dragons about."

As Lucia would learn, the chilling and the comforting often went hand in hand with the Imperial.

She had survived, the stranger, and in the wake of her return to the town there was talk that she had slain a dragon. Lucia heard the mumbles of "dragonborn", had asked the bard if there was a song for it, and when the merry man sang it she felt an odd surge of pride for the woman who had given her a temporary home. The stranger became less of a stranger as the days passed, as Lucia learned to sing and make bread and serve ale. Often the woman would visit the tavern, tucking extra coins into Lucia's hand and always asking after her and her skill acquiring.

She helped the town, too; within a month she was named Thane, and Lucia saw hope when the stranger was around. She hardly told anyone her name, Lucia had learned, but after so long coming in to see the girl, the barkeep and the bard, and Lucia herself, knew it well. Illise Yarrow, of Cheydinhal; though in truth her place of birth was mostly where her parents had been passing through, and Illise had no memory of it. She lived as her parents had, which is to say she wandered. After acquiring the title of Thane, she would disappear for long days and nights and come in to the inn weeks or months out from when she had left. Over time, she began paying for Lucia again, in payments of months, and she would always be gone just long enough for the ludicrous upfront payment to have made sense.

Lucia worked hard, at that inn. She cooked with the cook, helped clean the other rooms and learned how to keep her own customer-fit and tidy, and in the evening she worked on her letters with Hulda, who had taken a liking to her. She learned to sew by patching up her own raggedy dress, learned to mend and make, and when Illise came back with a new dress for her, Lucia knew how to take care of it. She was nine, now, and had been growing ever taller with her renewed health, and she needed the new dress. She was very thankful. Illise, for her part, never looked the same coming back as she did leaving.

Lucia didn't realize it was her, when she came back in mage robes and told her about a school in the north. She sat in Lucia's room that night and regaled her with tales of a cocky Khajiit, a kind Nord, and an eager Elf. When she left, she gave Lucia a spell tome that she couldn't read just yet, with a bird on the cover. "Restoration magic is in short supply," she explained, "this is another good skill to have." Lucia resolved to read it as soon as she was able.

"You saved those twenty septims, right?" She asked. Lucia nodded, and was handed another note. "Good. If you don't want to live in Riverwood, send this to the College, to J'Zargo. Can you say that name?"

"J'Zargo," Lucia repeated, tripping over the sounds but saying it passably enough. Illise smiled and ruffled her hair.

The guards hardly recognized her, when she came back in stolen vampire armor and told Lucia about a dog and a god. Hulda almost shooed her out when she came in a brown outfit, hood up and looking like she was up to no good. Illise had only smiled, and handed Hulda a large money pouch that the older woman had to be talked into taking. She told Lucia, later, in Lucia's room, that she had a job with a guild now.

"You can't tell Hulda, or anyone else in town," she'd said, those sharp eyes boring into Lucia's own. Lucia nodded solemnly. That same night, Illise showed her how to crouch and walk without being heard, how to pick through a lock without breaking the pick, how to be polite and get her way. She left Lucia a book, _beggar prince_ , and the little girl worked her way through it slowly, proud of how her reading and writing was coming along.

When she left the next morning, Illise pressed a new note into her hand. "You've saved those twenty septims, right?" She asked. Lucia nodded. "Good. Now, you have a choice. If I don't come back and you run out of time, ask the courier to take this note to Brynjolf, in Riften, if you want work." She gave her another twenty septims, so Lucia could send two of her notes if she wished. Lucia stored the forty coins and three notes in a box she couldn't pick the lock on, for safekeeping, and began to lock the door behind her whenever she left the room.

After that, Illise was gone for a long while. A dragon attacked the city, and Lucia spent a whole afternoon numbly staring at the charred bench she used to sit at every day to beg for coin. A thief came to town, stole everything from the houses and inns, but not from Hulda. There was a strange mark on the door to the inn, now; a diamond with two overlapping circles. Hulda refused to talk about it.

Lucia cooked and cleaned, sewed and mended, and worked on her reading. She finished _beggar prince_ and moved on to her spell tome, _Healing_ , with trepidation. It was much slower going, and she had to practice on top of that, but eventually Lucia could heal herself as well as any novice. Hulda sent word by courier to Illise, and Illise sent back a thousand septims for Hulda, a note saying she was proud, and another book, _healing hands_. Lucia started on it right away.

It was another few months before a stranger came to the Bannered Mare. She was in tight fitting light armor, with a hood and cowl that covered her entire face, except the eyes. Lucia knew her immediately. "Illise!" She cried, running to hug the woman.

Illise patted her on the back, kneeled down, and whispered in her ear, "I have enough coin for Breezehome. Tomorrow, once the house is mine and the hearth is lit, we'll be going home."

Lucia wanted to cry. _Home_. She took Illise at her word, informing Hulda and packing her things. She kept the forty septims and her notes well hidden, for safety.

True to her word, Illise came for her the next day, and walked her the short distance. Breezehome had a warm hearth, a cozy kitchen, and a room for Lucia, with its own chest. The lock there was even harder to pick. She put her things away immediately and flopped down on the bed. It was poorly made, but she slept better there than she ever had at the Inn. When she woke the next morning, it was to food and a new mother.

Illise didn't stay long, leaving Lucia to her own devices. When the little girl asked where the housecarl was, the one there was a room for upstairs, Illise looked stricken and asked her to not mention it again. She was gone the next day, leaving coin for Lucia and food, and another healing tome.

Her mother may not appear often, Lucia reflected, but she had provided for her well. Hulda was told to keep the extra septims, as a thanks, and Lucia was welcome to earn her own coin at the Bannered Mare whenever she wanted. The girl walked the streets, playing with friends during the day, and the night was spent keeping up on her cooking and mending, her spellwork and her sneaking.

And every great now and again, her mother would show up, showering her in love and gifts. Lucia felt content, and safe. But always, always, she remembered her forty septims, and her notes.

Just in case.


	2. J'Zargo

_**J'Zargo**_

There were many things J'Zargo had seen, in his life. As a smaller Khajiit, he had been confined but content in his homeland; the little corner of Elsweyr he called home. There were some… Unfortunate accidents… involving his clearly superior magical ability and some unknowing idiot _children_ \- J'Zargo, obviously, was never a real child himself; he sprang forth into being almost wholly complete and in every way better, or so his mother had told him. The fact that this was almost always told to him when he failed very spectacularly at something and got made fun of was irrelevant, because it was obviously, objectively, true - but, for the most part, he was content.

This had changed rapidly.

He was still a young Khajiit, of course, his youth only scant years behind him, but he wanted things. He wanted knowledge, and power, and everything he could get his hands on that would drag him out of the so very unmagical beginnings he had contented himself with for far too long. Mages weren't known for their heavy armor, or for their sturdy builds, but mages weren't known for being Khajiit, either. Heavy armor was what he had, and heavy armor was what he used, running off with a caravan with only his sparks and his armor, and a small amount of coin.

So, being the wise and traveled being he was, J'Zargo was assured that nothing would surprise him. He was J'Zargo, and he was unflappable. He definitely didn't jump as he met eyes with the new student. That did not happen. Hackles did not raise, upon meeting her gaze. Her demeanor did nothing to shake him. It was him recognizing a potential threat, at best.

Still, he was thankful for once to be in the middle of a lecture, where no one was paying him any attention. It gave him time to convince himself he wasn't intimidated.

Illise Yarrow opened class by agreeing with everyone, a fact that J'Zargo took note of only because it was very polite. She very graciously accepted demonstrating a ward, which she did with appropriate novice strength, and when she stepped back into place there was nothing extraordinary about her at all.

It was that moment that J'Zargo decided he Did Not Like Illise. He resented being roomed next to her, hearing her nearby, learning at the same pace as her, all of it. His scoffed at her interest in restoration ( _you won't be using that on anyone but yourself_ , he'd thought, and then stopped thinking about it abruptly because the thought was deeply unsettling, for some reason) and continued learning his fire and sparks and frost, honing his scrollwork while listening, teeth gritted, as Illise in the room over built up her magicka endurance by casting that _infuriating_ sounding healing spell.

He was glad, briefly, when she began leaving the college for long periods of time. Briefly, because she came back almost always, usually with new spells and armor and weapons. She delivered rare and lost books to the library and was often seen reading up on useful combative magic, now. _Destruction_ magic. _J'Zargo's_ magic. How dare she even try to compete?

She would leave, and come back stronger. The Khajiit thought back bitterly to years spent traveling, years spent honing his skills as a mage and a fighter, and how little he had gained compared to her. She left the college he had travelled so far to get to, and came back with things J'Zargo was hungry to know. Small, pocket-sized things, occasionally.

As a point of fact, he hadn't come to the college planning to steal. He was bitterly against the unfair accusations against his people, and determined to make a name for the Khajiit in Winterhold as respectable mages. When he was archmage, all would see the power inherent in his race, and he could go to the local tavern without being called a "sneak thief". This was not to say he was against stealing, morally. If it furthered his goals, it may as well be his; he could put it to good use. Better use than whoever had it before, anyway.

Her room was just next door. He could claim to have wandered in by mistake, if he was caught.

Talking to her, for the first time, had set his resolve to pilfer her things. She had come up very politely - "Hello, J'Zargo"- and been friendly with him. He didn't meet her eyes the whole conversation, a fact she politely ignored. Focused on her lips, he could be irritated, rather than wary. He could forget himself, or forget to not be himself, as the case may be. The talk was meant to be light, but soon J'Zargo had let slip his aspirations.

"You want to be archmage, huh?" Illise asked, grinning like she thought it was a fine idea. J'Zargo wasn't born yesterday, he knew better. His eyes narrowed.

"J'Zargo is the best apprentice in this school," he all but hissed, "J'Zargo is certain he will be archmage, he does not simply "want" to be."

The Imperial held up her hands defensively, but her lips flinched into a smile she suppressed a moment later; if J'Zargo hadn't been watching, he wouldn't have noticed. He had been watching, and he had noticed; he bit back a rising growl of frustration. "You do have quite the reputation," Illise allowed, "mostly for looking at things as a competition. You know not everything has to be like that, right?"

"You only say that," J'Zargo said, malice crawling into his words despite his attempts to stay above her jibing, "because you cannot see how very far behind you really are."

She seemed taken aback by that, for some reason. Surprise was twisting her lips into a frown, but when the Khajiit dared a glance up at her eyes, the intense, almost white-blue gaze bored into him. The hood of the apprentice robes she wore did nothing to alleviate the piercing nature of her gaze. "Is that a challenge?" She asked. J'Zargo refused to look away from her eyes, now that his own had met them.

" _You_ are no challenge," he hissed out, "J'Zargo came here to find things, find knowledge, he is not here for you. J'Zargo came to this college to see new things. Pocket sized things, maybe, that will not be missed. You will not miss." And with that, he stalked off. The golden doors were thrust open unceremoniously in his wake, and his hands crackled with electricity. How dare she? How _dare_ she? J'Zargo was no one to lightly challenge.

 _Illise is no one to lightly threaten_ , something inside him answered. But, threaten her he had. He would wait until she left the school, he decided, and then put to use everything he had learned travelling with the caravans. He would take things she would miss. He would make her understand that he wasn't someone to take lightly, just because he was Khajiit. That infuriating Imperial was going to suffer for the blows she had dealt, directly and otherwise, to his pride.

To her credit, Illise was crafty; J'Zargo could see it in her polite manner. She did nothing to let on that J'zargo had been anything but kind to her. She still treated him the same, though those ghastly eyes bore into him when she looked his way. He was wary, at first, and then he relaxed somewhat. She was a silly girl; all talk. Once confronted, she clearly wasn't looking for further fights. Soon, she would leave, and he could strike.

She didn't leave soon. J'Zargo could only account for this when he considered Illise was, perhaps, scared. Scared of _him_ , the way it should be. He was superior, after all. A better mage, likely a better warrior…

That was when things began to go missing. Little things, here and there. Never from J'Zargo, of course, because he slept too lightly and guarded his belongings too diligently, but from everyone else. The other students, the teachers, even the archmage wasn't safe. J'Zargo was confused, but cautious; he got better locks to protect his things when locks began being picked, he kept his senses alert when things began to go missing right under people's noses. He was the quietest, when he walked, and so he reasoned he would hear them coming.

It got to the point where the archmage called for a meeting of student and faculty, to discuss these happenings.

"There has been," he said gravely, "rampant theft in our midst. Things are going missing." He swept a sober gaze across the novices, "important things. Teachers are missing money, ingredients, gems. Students are missing books by the dozens, and things they require for their studies. For this reason, students will no longer be allowed in the hall of countenance."

"You can't think it's one of us!" Said the Nord, but his gaze cut to J'Zargo. The Khajiit hissed softly.

"J'Zargo does not appreciate this," he said, quietly furious, "how will J'Zargo learn, if he is not allowed to search out his teachers?" Unspoken, he was furious at the accusations laid in the Nord's sidelong glance; it would be that racist group to accuse him! No evidence, and yet they were cutting him off from his teachers.

"It is a temporary measure," the archmage assured, holding up a hand, voice echoing in the chamber, "until the thief is found or the thieving stops."

IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII

It wasn't until he arrived at his room that J'Zargo realized he was being set up: He was Khajiit. He walked softly, listened closely, and he had been the only one to not be stolen from.

Well. Almost the only one.

Eyes slitted in quiet fury, J'Zargo chanced a peek into Illise's room. Empty, except for the occasional herb she apparently didn't mind being stolen. He knew this could be a set up. If he got caught in her room now then things would be over for him, his aspirations ruined. But, if he found the missing items…

"J'Zargo?"

Whipping around, the Khajiit in question found Illise, quiet as night, standing behind him. Her hands smoked with magic-illusion magic, now; she had moved on to it days ago- and her feet had the telltale haze of the muffling spell. Her eerie gaze followed his to her feet, and she laughed. "Apologies," she said, in good humor, "I overcast the spell and then forgot I still had it going. Were you looking for me?"

J'Zargo was caught, for a moment, on what he should do. His mind raced for a suitable reason he would have for searching her out. Maybe… yes, yes that would do, and give him time to properly investigate things.

"Ah, yes! J'Zargo has a request of you!" He said broadly, reaching into his robes. He didn't miss the way Illise tensed and her hand went to her side. There was nothing there currently, but her actions told him she was used to it being otherwise. Filing that away for thought, he withdrew several of his practice scrolls. They weren't _quite_ ready for him to test yet, but Illise was a competent adventurer, to hear her talk. She could handle any side effects. "Take these, and test them for J'Zargo?" He asked, putting them into her startled arms before she could speak. "These are improved: the dead come near, the dead explode. You will see. Tell J'Zargo if they work, and you will be repaid, yes?"

She shrugged, slipping them into her bag. "Of course. I have a bit of work I was asked to attend to, perhaps I'll have the chance to test them there." She gave him a smile, one that managed to obscure those eyes long enough to make her seem pleasant, and went past him to her room, presumably to prepare. Despite himself, J'Zargo watched as she pulled out armor after armor, examining each one and putting them back.

"You keep many things," he noted, watching as what was unmistakably vampiric armor was set out for changing. It glowed with enchantments, of what kind he was not sure.

"Adventures lend a lot of useful items," she said simply, moving to the other wardrobe and pulling out a war axe with yet more enchantments, "many are gifts, others are useful items the dead will not miss." She gestured to the armor on the bed, and J'Zargo relaxed slightly. She did not look like a vampire, with her ice eyes, but sometimes things were not as they appeared with mages. "Maybe I can test these at the excavation site?" She suggested, pulling out a red and black robe and hood. It took J'Zargo a moment to understand she meant the scrolls. He had forgotten the excavation, in all of the trouble and his own plans. That was today, of course. He may have missed it, otherwise.

"I do not think the dead will walk where they send us," he replied evasively. Illise frowned.

"The site is an old barrow. I've never been in one that was empty of the restless dead." She eyed him. "You might want something sturdier than the apprentice robes." He watched her stash away the robes she had picked out and pull out a light armor set. "I don't think I want to take my chances."

It was hours later, and J'Zargo, stubbornly in his apprentice robes, found himself staring at Illise's back as the slim figure moved through the dimly lit barrow. She looked ready for a fight. On her hip was a war axe, ebony and wickedly sharp. It glowed with enchantments, like everything else on her person. Her other side bore no weapon or shield, and J'Zargo marked her for a war mage. What did she use, in that free hand? Perhaps flames, or ice. Ice would have suited her, the Khajiit decided.

He noticed her talking to the professor, and, being curious as he was by nature, he followed after her at a crouch when she was sent off on some task. He watched from the shadows as she collected little rings warily, looking about as though the barrow would drop nasty surprises at any moment. He almost thought she was being paranoid, until he got in too close. It was just in time for her to pry the amulet off the wall. He was trapped inside with her when the trap was set.

Panic welled up inside him as she approached his place in the shadows, but she only went as far as the bars, testing them with her fist as though she could pry them open with only her will. It was almost comical, from such a small woman. She tugged the bars futilely, then brushed her hands against her hood to throw it back. J'Zargo was surprised to see that her hair was cropped short; a black mess of thin spikes that clung to the shape of her skull. She peered between the bars, and then began waving at someone beyond them.

"Ah! What happened here?" The professor's voice reached J'Zargo and, though he was too proud to admit it, he was calmed. Older and wiser mages were here to help in just these scenarios.

"I pried the amulet off the wall, and the bars…." Illise had the good sense to sound chagrined at her own stupidity.

"Yes, well, go on and put it on, see if you can discern a way out."

She nodded, slipping the amulet around her neck and turning again to the place it had lain. An odd energy filled the area, a shimmering like hot air on a cool day emanating from the wall. "Maybe if I…." Illise murmured, looking at her free hand. J'Zargo leaned in closer, expecting to see her chosen spell, but instead she took a step back from the wall. She breathed in deep, closed her eyes, and took a wide, low stance. Then, unmistakably from her mouth, a great force emerged. J'Zargo could only watch in mute shock and consternation as the wall fell inward and the bars withdrew. The professor moved in to take the lead, and J'Zargo stood when the two disappeared down the hall. Should he follow? It seemed potentially dangerous.

Cursing himself for not heeding Illise and getting his armor, J'Zargo turned and stalked out of the barrow, ignoring calls from his classmates. Trust Illise to find whatever it was she found. Trouble, Trouble was what she'd found, and she was nothing but.

He made it back to the college in good time, fuming as he was at his own choice to leave. He stalked up the long bridge, avoiding the crumbling bits, and pushed into the hall of attainment. It was empty.

J'Zargo's eyes fell on Illise's empty, waiting room.

It was finally his chance, but it felt… wrong, now. He wasn't here to steal things. He wanted answers now. That was the difference. Always he had only wanted the items others had possessed, not the knowledge of the person themselves. He looked through the wardrobe, withdrawing the robes from earlier with extreme care. They seemed well made, even if the garment stitches were visible, and the dye and quality of the cloth was undeniably rich. They sparked with magic, as well: expertly imbued with powerful enchantments. He ran a hand over the back, placing his pawed digits over the human hand imprinted on the back of the cloth. What did that mean?

Some guild, perhaps, he thought, moving on. There was another set of armor, equally as fine as the robes, with some sort of bird insignia. J'Zargo made a point of remembering it, resolving to hunt down the symbols in the Arcaneum later. He was still new to Skyrim, having not seem more than he needed to pass through to get to the College, but these seemed significant. Other armor she kept appeared just as finely made, but less worn and in some cases vastly too large for Illise's build. Was this armor she had liberated from fallen foes, then?

He moved on, looking through the other wardrobe to find it stacked with books and notes. He was vindicated to see that, among other titles, she had all of the reported missing tomes. So it was her stealing things. He picked up a note, unfolding the halved paper to find that same handprint. Underneath, only ' _we know_ ' written in a dangerous hand. Other notes, orders for hired thugs and assassins alike, named Illise a thief and offered generous sums for her death or injury.

It was true, then. Illise was someone to be feared. A criminal, at least. The sheer amount of these letters pointed to her thievery at the college. He had been stupid enough to offer himself up as an effigy for the college to burn, covering the true culprit's tracks. The question now was exposing Illise's misdeeds before she could frame him soundly.

The next stop for J'Zargo was the Arcanaeum, he decided, carefully stashing away some of the less conspicuous notes (for proof) and the odd note with the hand (for research). In a fit of inspiration, he also placed a piece of parchment over the dark armor he had seen earlier, using some charcoal from his pouch to etch an imprint of the bird insignia. Yes, this would do just fine, he mused, making his way to his own room to prepare.

Illise wouldn't know what hit her.


End file.
